Two Faces
by narcissa-xx
Summary: The repetitive nature of Hermione's life with Ron has made her realise that it is missing the vital element of excitement. A surprise encounter with Lucius Malfoy serves to complicate and change matters irrevocably. My first FF, so please RnR.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:

_**I do not possess rights to any of the characters contained in this Fic or the Harry Potter series. Full credit for these goes to JK Rowling. **_

**Prologue: **

Hermione was sat in old, threadbare armchair with her knitting. The weather was utterly foul and she could hear great torrents of water cascading from the roof; failing to be caught by the broken and rusted iron guttering that clanked against rotten fascia boards. The wind was howling, causing the windowpanes to rattle with considerable force. The room she was sat in was sparsely furnished and grew increasingly dingy as the grey storm clouds coincided with nightfall. As she sat, carefully counting the stitches on a half-finished sweater sleeve, the noise of a consistent drip caught her attention. Hermione sighed. Her home was falling apart around her - the drip marked yet another sign of its decomposition. Rising from her arm chair, she lifted her head and looked for the leak in the roof. It was located a little less than two feet away from where she had been sitting. Sighing again, she left her sitting room and made her way into the poky kitchen.

Whilst immaculately clean, the kitchen was hopelessly outdated. None of the chairs at the dining table matched one another, the stove was a rusting Aga and the ceramic sink had a large crack running down it. Opening a cupboard, she removed a large copper cooking pot; it bore numerous signs of repair and looked at least fifty years old. Moving back into the lounge, she positioned the pot directly underneath the leak in the roof. Although she knew that she could have used magic to fix the hole in the roof, she felt too resigned to her impoverished situation to do so. Before she could return to her seat, a cracking sound erupted from the roof above her. Hermione ducked to the left, and a large chunk fell to the floor beside her. Shaken, she staggered to her feet and hurried out of the door in case of further collapse. She tottered over to an old swing seat at the side of the house, and sat down. The cold, driving rain saturated her clothing, but Hermione was far too distressed to notice. Quietly, she began to sob.


	2. Chapter 1: Leaks & Lords

**Chapter 1 – Leaks and Lords**

In the days following the end of the Second Wizarding War, it was only natural that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger found solace in one another. Together with Harry, they had survived some of the most tumultuous days in living history and had experiences that no others could have dreamt of. They could only relate to one another. In the midst of those dark days, Hermione had modified her parent's memories to protect them from the potential wrath of Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters. Always a skilled witch, she had performed her task so well that her parents believed themselves childless and assumed eccentric new monikers in a distant part of Australia. Following the triumph of the Order, Hermione felt that it would have been unfair to lift the enchantment and ruin her parent's anonymous happiness. In addition, there were no possible fabricated explanations that she could have given for her whereabouts or the occurrences in her life. Ron was Hermione's constant and convenient source of support, and their mutual shared experiences made the complex world seem far simpler. She had always known that she would have ended up with either Harry or Ron, and as Harry had moved towards Ginny...well, the decision had made itself. The security of a relationship that had been forged upon seven years of close friendship was immensely comforting. There were no major discoveries to be made about each other's personality/hobbies and good conversation was guaranteed.

After such a complex and terrible war, this sense of security was something that Hermione believed herself to need. They were never apart for long and the move to live together "just happened". The dilapidated, near derelict two-bedroom cottage was all that they could afford. She had taken a job as a Junior Reporter at the Daily Prophet, a job that she loved but for which the pay was low. Despite her dazzling intelligence and quick mind, Hermione had started as many great journalists do: at the bottom of the ladder. Nevertheless, she was determined to prove herself and forge a great career. Even if it did mean that she survived on pittance for a few years. The contribution that Ron made to the household was near negligible. He had been attempting, and failing, to enrol upon the Ministry's Auror training programme for over two years with no success. Hermione knew that her boyfriend simply did not have the mental agility or suitable qualifications to become an Auror, but hadn't the heart to tell him so. Instead, she sat by as he spent most of his time working for a few sickles in George's flourishing joke shop.

It would be a lie, to say that their domestic circumstances did not take a toll on their relationship. Hermione was tense and irritable most evenings as she spent most of her time writing articles, knitting winter clothing and carrying out household repairs. Ron, as ever, was little comfort or help. He would arrive home with a variety of test objects from the shop and covered in various substances, expecting his tea as soon as he set foot in the door. After shovelling down several portions, he would then drink a couple of bottles of Butterbeer and fall asleep on the sofa. Inevitably, a grating, routine had been established. Hermione had longed for stability and security, but now that she had it, she was finding herself disillusioned with life and felt that something was missing. The caved-in roof was just another thing that reinforced these feelings, and led Hermione down the path of despair.

She was not entirely sure how long she sat in the rain for. The minutes melted together into at least an hour, as the ice-cold haze swirled around her. Her bushy brown hair billowed forward around her face and she was too preoccupied with keeping it back to see the tall, red-headed man apparate the foot of the drive. However, as the sound of fast paced footsteps on gravel increased; she looked up just in time to see Ron's worried face staring at her. He leant down to her: "Hermione? What's wrong?" "The roof fell in, I'm freezing cold, the house stinks of damp, I have an important meeting tomorrow which I need to do some work for and I don't have anything for your tea!" she replied, in a terse and choked voice. She fought to hold the tears back, but she began to wail after finishing her sentence. Ron sat down and tried to place a consoling arm around her before rebuffed. "Merlin's beard! You're soaked through! How long have you been sat here?" he asked, looking aghast. Hermione shrugged. "Bloody hell, it's not like you to do things like this. It's just a roof, it can be fixed. Or have you forgotten you're a witch all of a sudden?" Hermione kept silent and Ron let out a large sigh before lifting her from the bench and her placing her on feet. He smiled at her reassuringly before making a move towards the house. Tentatively, he gesticulated for her to follow him, reaching out his hand as he would to a very young child. This wasn't right. Hermione was never like this. She was bold, confident, bossy and proud. And now, she stood mute in the rain, her eyes devoid of expression. Disorientated, she followed Ron into the house.

Ron took one look at the gaping hole in the roof and removed his wand from his pocket. Pointing it, he shouted "_REPARO_!". The rubble on the floor cleared as it zoomed back upwards, assembling itself back together as if it was a perverse kind of jigsaw. He turned to Hermione as if to question why she had not done this herself when it had happened. She took a deep breath before composing herself to speak. "Ronald, you do realise that we are living in a complete hovel, don't you? Things are falling to pieces around us. Yes, _Reparo _does solve the problem but that rubble only just missed me. What would happen if the roof caved in on top of us? Wizard or not, a blow to the head still does serious damage, doesn't it?". Ron knew she was right, and that it was dangerous for them to be living in such a place. "I'll ask Mum and Dad if we can stay there for a bit, you know, till we get stuff sorted out. Thank God we're only renting this place. Can't believe Mrs Percival wants two galleons a month for it, bloody ridiculous..."Ron's voice trailed off and he disapparated for the Burrow with a loud crack. Hermione busied herself by scouring the house for the little possessions they had that were worth keeping and packing them away them away in two old Hogwarts trunks.

"Mum's going MENTAL!" said Ron as he popped back into the room an hour later. "She's sent Mrs Percival a Howler about the rent and our deposit. Hopefully it won't finish her off" he chuckled. Hermione gave him a weak smile in return. "I'm going to be glad to leave this place. I went to dry myself off and even our towels were all wet. There's another leak in the bathroom" said Hermione, grimacing before she let out an almighty sneeze. "You're catching a cold, come on. Grab a trunk and we'll get out of here". She grabbed the lighter of the two trunks and caught onto Ron's forearm. As they stood to apparate together, Hermione's stomach filled with sick sensation. She had realised that it wasn't just the gloomy, damp-infested house that made her feel discontented. Before she could think anymore of it, they disapparated.

The Burrow proved to be a much more pleasant place to stay. Molly Weasley had ushered them into the house with open arms when they arrived on her doorstep, sodden and sullen. "Hermione! You look like a ghost!" Mrs Weasley burst out as they lugged the trunks through the door. Hermione sneezed. "Now now, dear. We'd better run you a nice hot bath and make you a cup of cocoa. You've had a nasty shock". Molly began to usher her upstairs, before stopping halfway to call to Ron: "By the way, your father has a few Ministry people over for drinks this evening. Mind you don't make a lot of noise and interrupt their meeting". She turned back and continued to press Hermione further up the staircase, leaving Ron scowling as he tried to quietly cast _Locomotor Mortis_ on the waiting trunks.

Hermione lay in the large Victorian bath tub, letting the warm, soapy water mull over her cold body. Molly had poured a substantial amount of lavender & patchouli bath foam under the running tap, and the aroma was tantalising. Numerous small tea-lights bobbed above her head, their gentle flames bounced off the shining silver taps and provided the large room with only a small amount of light. Hermione sighed as she relaxed more and slid further under the water. She was very tired, and had not previously realised it. Absorbing the scent, she closed her eyes for a moment and the thoughts on her troubled mind began to melt away...

The next thing she knew, there was a strong pressing sensation on her chest and the sound of deep breathing. Everything was dark, and she was unsure what had happened. Slowly, but surely, the darkness gave way and Hermione looked up into the bright light of the room; the tea-lights had clearly been extinguished, and the main light turned on. Someone was leaning over her, gently pushing at her eyelids and feeling the pulse in her neck. "Miss Granger? Can you hear me?" asked a male voice. It had the recognisable lilt of Received Pronunciation but with a drawling edge to it. Hermione could recognise the voice but could register to whom it belonged. "Yes" she mumbled quietly. Her eyes gradually came into focus and she looked up at the man she presumed to be her saviour. The face was familiar: pale, beautiful and chiselled with a distinctly arrogant expression upon it. It was framed with sleek strands of dazzling silver-blond hair. Hermione gasped in utter bewilderment as the wave of recognition hit her. Staring down at her, through flint-like grey eyes; was Lucius Malfoy.

"What the –!" Hermione sputtered indignantly, as she came into her senses and sat bolt upright. Noticing her fully revealed body, she flushed and snatched a large dry towel from the radiator next to her. Malfoy was smirking at her, his head still uncomfortably close to her own. "Well, Miss Granger. We meet again. And in _such _unusual circumstances" he said in an undistinguishable tone, leaning back to increase the proximity between them. "Tell me; are you in the habit of falling asleep in the bath-tub?" Hermione grimaced as she realised what must have happened. "How – Why - ?" she began, directly gazing at Malfoy, searching for a full explanation of the situation. He sighed before launching into an explanation. "I came up to go to the bathroom. I knocked on the door and as there was no response, I presumed it was unoccupied. When I entered, you were submerged underneath the water and had ceased breathing. The gallant gentleman that I am, I pulled you out and administered CPR. I saved your life" he said in a smug tone. "Thank you" responded Hermione flatly. "I gather from your tone that you would not have desired me to come to your aid?" "No... Well, yes... Oh I don't know. I'm pretty confident that you only rescued me out of necessity. After all, it's common knowledge that you believe that the less 'mud bloods' there are, the better" said Hermione, raising her fingers in air quotes to emphasise the derogatory term. "_Believed"_ corrected Lucius. Hermione snorted scornfully and rolled her eyes. "Don't you have anything better to do?" asked Hermione, struggling to balance her long established hatred of Malfoy with gratitude. "Of course I do – I _should _be discussing Ministry matters at this very moment". Hermione could not suppress the surprising mingled feeling any longer. "Thank you for coming to my aid, Mr Malfoy". Lucius gave her a half-smile. "I think I have been too much of a cause for worry today, so I would appreciate it if you did not inform any one of this little encounter" she continued. "You need not worry; have no strong desire to brag about it. I had very little choice in how to act and I do not aspire for a heroic status. Perhaps you mistake me for Potter? ". Hermione ignored the snide nature of the comment. "Oh don't worry; I have already ascertained your true nature and feelings, Lucius". He gave a grunt and moved for the door. "Please make sure you do not put yourself in any further danger this evening, Miss Granger. I will not be your salvation again" said Lucius, coldly before sweeping off through the door and down the rickety staircase.

Hermione stood for a few moments following his departure in a curious and pensive state. Lucius Malfoy bore all of the imposing physical characteristics as he had done whilst a Death Eater. However, she had not failed to notice that he had softened somewhat. The sense of arrogance that had once been so dominating and had emanated from him so strongly in the previous years was greatly reduced. His grey eyes had born signs of resignation and defeat, instead of cold, steely indifference and evil. Hermione was perplexed, and though she hated to admit it, full of admiration for the man who had once stood by and watched Bellatrix Lestrange torture her in unimaginable ways.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of her mind, she dressed herself in the laundered freshly flannelette pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers that had been laid out for her. Heading downstairs cautiously, the inviting aroma of homemade chicken soup filled her nostrils and felt a rush of contentment and deep affection for the homely ambience of the Burrow. Her former melancholic state had finally lifted and Hermione was relieved to find that she was distinctly feeling more like her usual self.

**I hope you have enjoyed the first chapter of the story so far!**

**This is the first piece of fan-fiction that I've ever written, so I apologise if the style is off, the pace is slow or if there are minor textual errors. It has taken me a long time to get into the required frame of mind to write this, and I still don't think that I have gotten into the groove (to be expected, really). Hopefully, this is something that will rectify itself as I go along.**

**It would help me immensely if you could take the time to review the first chapter and prologue **


	3. Chapter 2: The Assignment

**Here's the next chapter. I wasn't entirely sure how to begin this to be honest, so I hope that it doesn't seem too contrived. **

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**Chapter 2 –**

After a somewhat disturbed night's sleep, Hermione rose the next morning in the cosy spare bedroom of the Burrow. Her dreams had been interwoven with flashes of that pallid, apollonian face and flashbacks to the previous nights encounter. Nevertheless, Hermione was determined not to let Malfoy and his snide manner affect her and she carefully got out of bed, her feet fumbling to find the slippers on the floor. Ron was sprawled across most of the bed; still snoring away loudly and clearly unaffected by the movement of the duvet. Hermione did not bother to wake him, instead she slunk off to wash and dress. As she walked into the unoccupied bathroom, she imagined once again that she was sprawled on the floor; looking up at the towering blond wizard whom she had hated for so very long. Soon enough, Hermione realised she was dawdling and the clock on the shelf informed her that she had less than half an hour before she was due at work. After pulling on form fitting emerald robes; Hermione brushed her teeth, washed her face and carried out a ferocious attack on her manic bushy hair with a wide hairbrush. Eventually, she was ready to face the day and embarked downstairs for breakfast.

"Hermione, you look lovely" said Arthur Weasley kindly, peering over his paper to see who had entered the kitchen. "I don't suppose there's much point in asking if Ron is up yet?" Hermione giggled, and replied: "You know as well as I do, Mr Weasley; that Lord Voldemort himself couldn't get Ron out of bed on a Friday morning!" Arthur smiled and returned reading his copy of _The Daily Prophet. _Molly was stood at the stove, stirring various pans of food that were filling the room with a divine smell. "Bacon and eggs, dear?" she asked, Hermione as she looked round to see her standing near the doorway. "What lovely robes! The green goes beautifully with your hair "Hermione blushed and allowed Mrs Weasley to usher her into a chair at the breakfast table before hurrying back to the stove. Hermione's eyes flitted around the room, and met the face of a small clock balanced on the mantle-piece above the warm, crackling fire. She had twenty minutes to eat and get to work. Molly came bustling back to the table; her wand in her hand and a number of vast food-filled pots floating in front of her. Raising her wand, she manoeuvred the pots so that they silently rose over the heads of Hermione and Arthur, before landing quietly on the pre-laid table. Despite the fact all of her children had left home, Molly was still in the habit of cooking for nine and today's breakfast reflected this. "Well tuck in!" she said, glaring at the pair impatiently. Feeling the glare, Hermione helped herself to: three slices of bacon, two sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, scrambled eggs and toast. She was ravenous.

Somehow managing to devour the small mountain of food that was piled on her plate, Hermione found her mokeskine briefcase and travelling cloak. Bidding Mr and Mrs Weasley a good day, she stepped into the front hallway and disapparated.

She appeared in Diagon Alley moments later, walking quickly towards the Daily Prophet offices located next to Gringott's Bank. The street around her was jostling with activity, as witches and wizards rushed to work or shop in the narrow street. After fighting her way through the throngs of people, Hermione stepped through the office door; on time as always. "Good Morning Candida!" she said cheerfully to the witch sat at the Reception desk. "How am I fixed for today?" Candida Goodge looked up at her over a pair of thick framed red-glasses. A small, middle-aged witch; she was barely able to see over the desk and was not quite the same height as the filing cabinets surrounding her. The fact that she was able to perform her job so well in the light of this had shocked Hermione when she had first started working at the _Prophet. _Candida, now smiling, greeted her warmly and handed her several memos. "Gregory would like to see you in his office straight away". Hermione hid her grimace well, and walked into a nearby closet to hang up her cloak. She knew that this was a crucial meeting; one that may well determine the course of her career.

Returning to the reception area, she found Candida waiting to escort her to the Editor's office. Arriving at a large oak door, Candida gave three firm knocks on the door. "Enter" said the voice of the occupying wizard. The short witch popped her head around the door. "Hermione Granger to see you, Mr Broomthatch" she said, in her usual sing-song voice. Stepping back, she allowed Hermione to enter the capacious office and closed the door behind her. "Sit down, sit down" Broomthatch instructed, gesturing to the armchair that stood in front of his wide and commandeering desk. Hermione obliged, holding her briefcase on her lap. "As you know, we are soon to be launching a new feature in the Sunday Prophet..." he began immediately. "Oh yes. I had heard about that" said Hermione, displaying bright eyed interest. "Yes, well. Following consultation with some of the other writers; I have decided that this should follow the form of an 'At Home with...' column. You will, no doubt, be familiar with this format; with your family heritage". She nodded. Such columns were prevalent in the Muggle newspapers that she had grown up reading. Broomthatch went on: "The author or rather, interviewer for each week's column will alternate. I would very much like you to set the standard and produce the feature for this coming Sunday". He smiled at her. "Would you like to accept the opportunity I am offering to you?". Clearly, Gregory knew that Hermione would not refuse this opportunity; as she could see a file in front of him, bearing her name. "Of course!" she said excitedly. "Thank you so much for considering me!" He laughed lightly at her enthusiasm. "By the way", he added, "Have you finished editing the advertisements I gave you yesterday?" Hermione had just about managed to finish the task the night before, huddled in an armchair next to the fire in Molly's kitchen. She felt a surge of pride at her dedication given how dreadful she had felt, and opened the briefcase to extract the completed documents. She handed them to Broomthatch who flicked through them quickly before congratulating her; "Excellent work Miss Granger". Though Hermione did not know it, he considered her to be the most prodigious junior reporter working on the _Prophet. _Placing her finished work in a tray, Gregory picked up the named file and passed it to Hermione. "Your assignment" he said simply. "Thank you, sir. I am sure this will be an enjoyable assignment". She was barely able to contain her curiosity and feelings of elation. This was her biggest task to date, and she was determined to prove herself. "Shall I start working on it immediately?" Hermione inquired. "Yes, yes. Of course" replied Broomthatch. She could tell by the urgent nature of his voice that he was ready for her to leave. "Thank you" Hermione said again, picking up her briefcase and leaving the office swiftly.

Upon leaving the office, she quickly opened the file to survey her task. The top page of the collated papers took the form of a letter. Hermione immediately recognised the elegant sloping as belonging to the Chief Editor himself.

_Hermione – (_It began)

_Enclosed are guidelines for you to follow when compiling your "At Home With..." piece. Clearly, the wizards and witches who will be approached to feature in this column will be of elevated status. It is my intention to procure the time of as many household names as possible. With any luck (and your personal connections); we may eventually be able to interview Kingsley Shackelebolt in his personal environment. A piece with the direct involvement of the Minister of Magic would be invaluable for the Prophet, particularly as we are still trying to re-establish the readership lost just prior to You Know Who's takeover of the Ministry. _

_After lengthy correspondence, I have obtained full consent for you to spend an afternoon interviewing most distinguished and infamous wizard. Though he may be a controversial choice, I believe that we have much to gain from publishing an interview with Lucius Malfoy. There are many questions lingering around his last-minute defection from the Dark side and I believe that the wizarding population will be anxious to hear about this subject from the man himself. I realise that it could be slightly uncomfortable for you to carry out this task, given the direct role that you played in the War; but you could provide a refreshing perspective. I expect the piece to be written from a neutral stance; and will gladly provide you with support if you find this to be taxing. _

_I am well-informed that Mr Malfoy has changed considerably in the years following the War. He has recently divorced, and has once again ascended Ministry ranks. You may find it surprising; but his present role focuses upon Muggle Liaison and Negotiation! _

_Of course, if you find that this assignment is too emotionally-charged for you to complete successfully; I will understand if you do not want to do it. Should you wish to continue anyway, Mr Malfoy will be expecting to meet you at 1pm on Friday 20__th__ August for lunch at Malfoy Manor. If you would like to alter this time, please send an Owl ASAP. Again, I understand if you find the prospect of visiting his residence too traumatic. However, you may find the experience to have a rehabilitative effect upon the inevitable psychological injuries that you sustained from your imprisonment in the House. _

_I wish you the very best of luck. If there are any problems, do not hesitate in coming to see me directly. _

_Yours,_

_Gregory H. Broomthatch_

_Editor-in-Chief _

_The Daily Prophet_

It bore a flourishing signature in contrasting ink.

Hermione stared at the letter for several minutes, becoming so absorbed in its content that she forgot her whereabouts. When she finally closed the folder, she realised that she was taking up a considerable portion of the narrow corridor; blocking the only entrance to the main newsroom. Looking down, she saw that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. How_ can I go back there? _She asked herself. It was the place in which Hermione had been exposed to an unthinkable amount of pain inflicted by Bellatrix Lestrange. She had almost met the same fate as Frank and Alice Longbottom. With this thought in mind, a shudder emanate throughout her body. Hermione tried desperately to pull herself together, straightening her robes and patting her hair absent-mindedly. She struggled to comprehend the twist of fate that had allowed Lucius Malfoy to reappear in her life over two consecutive days. Hermione sighed audibly, before making her way to the office that she shared with two other reporters. She was discontented with the lot that had been handed to her, but forced herself to reconcile and accept it.

She walked into the room and groaned as her eyes met the large pile of parchment within her In Tray. Settling herself down; she pulled a quill and bottle of emerald green ink out of her desk drawer before pulling the first of the pieces of parchment from the tray. It was an article that she had written the previous week, about a witch in possession of a cat that could change into a teapot at will. If Hermione was honest, she had found the experience of writing that particular article to be both demoralising and degrading. Such pieces were usually doled out to the Work Experience pupils who arrived in streams from Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons on a regular and short-term basis. The piece had been referred onto the editorial team to be checked, but evidently, it had contained some flaw they found to be disagreeable. Looking to the bottom of the parchment, Hermione found the summarising comments: "Whilst this is excellently composed, with a completely flawless use of language, spelling and grammar; it is boring. You may wish to revise your usage of adjectives, and attempt to inject more flair into the piece". She was left wondering how this could achieve in a fruitless article that she abhorred. Nonetheless, she dug out a fresh piece of parchment and forced herself to begin redrafting the article.

When, at last, she was finished and satisfied; Hermione got to her feet and stretched. The time she had spent sitting on the office chair, huddling over the desk, had given her a slight case of back ache. She turned to look at the clock. It read, 12:39pm. Her appointment at Malfoy Manor was twenty minutes away, and she thought it best that she go and prepare herself both physically and mentally for the upcoming unpleasant experience. Knowing full well that she would spend the remainder of the working day out of the office, Hermione packed her briefcase and bid her workmates have a good weekend. Walking through Reception, she retrieved her cloak from the closer. Candida quietly wished her "Good Luck" as Hermione showed her the address she would shortly be heading to. Gulping, she grasped the door handle, pulled inwards and exited into Diagon Alley. As she pushed through the still-vast numbers of people, Hermione felt the urge to check her appearance before made her way to the Manor. Progressing along the cobbled street, she came to an Antiquities shop; displaying an array of ornate mirrors that were carved in a variety of style. Pausing, she looked into one that was full-length and ensured that her form fitting robes were positioned to show her figure at its best. Pulling at the neckline, she readjusted her breasts so that a hint of cleavage peaked over the jewelled edging. Next, she smoothed her hair and cast a small charm that styled her usually affray-hair into rich, falling ringlets and another, to apply a subtle, but enriching layer of makeup. Hermione did not usually put much effort into her looks – she simply did not feel the need. She was in a stable relationship and Ron was not the type to notice her efforts or deliver compliments. She sighed. She had absolutely no idea why she was trussing herself for this meeting. Lucius Malfoy thought her a worthless, annoying mudblood. However, she did not wish to afford him the satisfaction of being able to insult her looks as well. Hermione took one last look in the mirror, spun on her heels and disapparated.

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